


The Drowned God’s Choosing

by qodarkness



Series: The Drowned God's Champion [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: But it’s fun to write normal smut for once, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Smut, There’s always smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 21:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qodarkness/pseuds/qodarkness
Summary: Theon and Sansa are getting used to him being not dead any more, but there are some things they need some more practice in.





	The Drowned God’s Choosing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i'll crawl home to her](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695670) by [gingersprite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/pseuds/gingersprite). 

Theon finished lacing the door of Sansa’s (though maybe it was theirs now?) tent closed, making extra certain that no-one was likely to stumble in. It definitely wasn’t because he was suddenly nervous, and he pretended very hard that his hands weren’t shaking.

They had been so eager to make it here, but now they were, Theon found himself suddenly shy. 

Finally, when he couldn’t even pretend he was still struggling to tie the laces, he turned to face Sansa, who was standing under the central lantern, staring at him. The instant his eyes caught hers, he felt the blush rise in his cheeks, matched by the climb of colour in hers. 

They faced each other, each suddenly bright pink, and then they both started laughing and the tension was broken. “Sansa,” he breathed.

“Theon,’ she responded and shook her head. “Theon. My husband.” She said it as if she could barely believe it. 

“Can we…? Are you…?” Theon asked, unable to say the words. They had both understood it; no matter how much joy they had found in each other, in the mad, giddy delight of kissing and breathing each other in, they’d felt the moments when a certain movement, a certain noise, would make one or the other of them flinch and freeze and wait to be punished. Sansa had erased Ramsay Bolton from everywhere on Westeros except for the deep places in their minds that he had carved himself into. 

“I think the Maiden took it away,” replied Sansa. She didn’t step forwards but her body leaned towards Theon’s. “I wanted this and dreaded this so much, both in equal measure. I was so afraid that I couldn’t, after…” there was no need to say what it was after. “But now I… I just want it. I’m still frightened, Theon, but not… it’s not that.”

“Frightened, Sansa?” asked Theon. “I would never hurt you. Never.”

“Not like that,” she said, and laughed, a shy laugh. “I just… I’ve never… I don’t know if I can please you. Is that silly?”

“Silly,” replied Theon warmly. “Ridiculous. Ludicrous. Wonderful. Beautiful. Brave. Astonishing. Sansa. There’s nothing you could do that wouldn’t please me.” He had stepped forward with each word until he stood in front of her, and he touched his hand lightly under her chin. “And I promise that I will do everything I can to please you, my delightful, amazing wife.” 

His mouth on hers was a snowflake at first, a soft and melting touch of lips, but then it hardened and she responded eagerly. They had grown to know what each other liked in the last few weeks and the kiss was practiced and delighted both of them. Theon’s hands rose, cupped Sansa’s cheeks lightly, but hers did not mirror his. Instead, she reached to the buckles of his jerkin, slowly undoing each buckle, her hands lightly stroking her way down the centre of his chest as she made her way down. When it was loose, she slid the jerkin off over his shoulders and then gripped the bottom of his undershirt. Her hands slid up along his body, drawing the shirt up, until she took her mouth from his and, with his help, took it over his head. 

She stood back then and her hand pressed over her mouth. “Oh Theon,” she breathed and suddenly tears stood in her eyes. 

“Sansa, what’s wrong?” Theon asked, bewildered by her sudden emotion.

“I… oh, Theon. I… when you died. You died. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t let anyone else take care of you. I couldn’t! I…” She looked away from him, and the tears spilled over, ran down her cheeks. “I washed your body. I dressed you for your funeral rites. I saw… I saw everything he did to you. Everything. And now… Now you’re…” She looked back at him then, reached out her hand, drew it from his breastbone down to the top of his breeches. “You’re beautiful, Theon. They’re gone. I can’t… the gods have gifted us, Theon and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve it.”

Theon drew her into his arms, kissing her forehead. “You think  _ you’re _ surprised by the god’s choices,” he said lightly and smiled. “I could always ask if you want. But maybe not,” he drew in a shuddering breath as her fingers trailed across the skin of his stomach where it met his breeches, “right now.”

Sansa leaned back slightly, laughed and hiccuped and dried her tears with the back of her sleeve. “Maybe another time,” she agreed and then her look sharpened. “I want to see all of you,” she said, her voice husky, her hands busy with the laces of his breeches.

He remembered it, all the years when to show even an inch of his skin was to show the world what Ramsay had made him, the scarred, flayed, broken, beaten, unmanned thing he had become. It had been rare that Theon had let even Yara glimpse the most innocuous of his scars, let alone taken his breeches off in front of anyone. 

But Sansa’s hands were sliding his breeches down his legs, unlacing the top of his boots so he could kick them both off together, even as Sansa took off her own shoes. Then her hands were dancing across his skin, pausing in places where he remembered scars, and lingering over the place where the Night King’s spear had slid into him. She walked around him, her hands trailing lightly over his skin and the sudden tightness of his smallclothes made him realise that, in this moment, he no longer gave a fuck what Ramsay had done to him. 

Theon made a mental note to make an offering to the Maiden next time he was near a sept.

But the Drowned God wanted another kind of offering from him, and when Sansa walked back in front of him, he could wait no longer and helped her unlace her bodice, undo the ties that held her dress together and took them gently from her. He pressed soft kisses to her skin as he took off her chemise, then over the bite marks that still lingered as small silver crescents on her breasts, wishing she no longer had to wear them. But instead of flinching, Sansa tipped her head back, her breath escaping in a hiss as he captured her nipple with his mouth, teased it to hardness, did the same on the other side. 

He stood back then, admired the glory of the pale length of her, and her eyes were dark with desire. He stepped back into her embrace, and kissed her as his hands loosened her small clothes, dropped them to the floor. He didn’t take his mouth from hers as he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist (and, oh gods, the warmth of her centre brushed against his hardness and he could barely see straight, think, breathe at the feel of it) as he carried her to the camp bed. 

Setting her down at the edge of it, he made her stay there as he collected the pillows from the other end of the bed, arranged them behind her so she would be comfortable. She gripped his hand as he walked back in front of her, squeezed it and then let him go as he knelt between her legs. She gave him an enquiring glance, and he couldn’t help but waggle his eyebrows at her, a lascivious smirk on his face and her burst of laughter made his heart soar in his chest. There had been little joy in either of their adult lives and he would happily spend the rest of his life trying to make sure she felt nothing but joy for every day that was left to him.

“I love you,” he said simply and then kissed the inside of her thigh, a trail of them leading upwards until his tongue dipped into the core of her. She was wet already and she gave a sudden high keening note as his tongue danced over her pearl. “Oh,” she said as he stilled for a moment, waiting for her to grow used to the sensation. She looked down at him, eyes imperious. “Do that again,” she commanded and then giggled as he laughed, the sensation on her pearl apparently pleasing.

It was, Theon thought, the most intimate thing he had ever done. It was hardly the first time he had pleasured a woman this way, but it had always been a thing he did so that she would come back for more, not because he cared for her feelings on the matter. But wanting to please Sansa, to have her eyes locked on his, her hands in his hair as he tasted the honey that dripped from her cunt, as his tongue and teeth and lips sought the best way to ripple across her pearl, to hear her softly repeating his name in bliss, the flush climbing up her chest, her look turning inwards as she grew close to her peak was, Theon was fairly certain, the best thing he’d ever done in his life. And when her fingers gripped tightly in his hair and she called to the gods, her head falling back as her walls shuddered around his fingers, he could be nothing but thankful for all of the things in his life (and death) that had brought him here.

When she had relaxed, almost boneless in the aftermath, he stood and rearranged the pillows back to the top of the bed, encouraged her up to follow them. Then he took off his smallclothes, sliding them down over his achingly hard cock. 

Sansa’s eyes widened for a moment, but then she shifted slightly, making room for him beside her on the bed, and he knew that it was permission. Carefully he lay down in the small space beside her and then kissed her, rolling over until he lay on top of her, carefully keeping his weight on his arms and off her. He knew what she had said about no longer being frightened, but he was still worried Sansa might feel trapped and terrified, and he waited to see how she reacted to this position. But she reached up, gripped his shoulders, shifted slightly underneath him, until the warmth of her cunt pressed against his cock.

Gently, slowly, making sure she did not flinch, he sank into her, feeling her stretch and shift to accommodate him, her warm wetness better than anything he’d ever felt in his life. At last he was sheathed fully within her and he stilled again, breathed into the feeling, a feeling he thought had been forever lost to him.

They stayed like that for a long moment, his forehead pressed to hers, breathing each other in. Then Sansa tilted her hips under him, moved them gently as her lips danced over his. “Love me, Theon,” she whispered into his ear and then grazed her teeth lightly over the skin of his neck. 

“Sansa,” he whispered in response and then reached for her hand, guided it down the length of her body until he could settle it over her pearl. “I want you to peak with me inside you,” he said. “Please yourself, Sansa. For me.”

She blushed slightly, dropped her gaze from his eyes to his lips. “I’m… not sure I… it’s not something…”

“Sans,” said Theon lightly, and grinned. “Just try. I’m sure you’ll work it out quickly enough. Do what pleases you.”

And Sansa did, and he felt her long, clever fingers slowly begin to circle her pearl as he moved his hips slowly, a gentle undulation, trying to match himself to her rhythm. She stopped and started a few times, but slowly the shy blush on her face was replaced with a look of concentration that grew more and more intense. The speed of her fingers quickened and then she seemed to find the pace she needed and Theon watched in adoration as a flush climbed her chest and she bit at her bottom lip, her gaze darkening. He kept to the pace she set, but his thrusts stayed gentle and controlled, not wanting to spill before Sansa had peaked. Then her fingers dug suddenly into the back of his shoulder and she arched beneath him, a strangled, “oh gods,” falling from her lips as he felt her walls clutch around him, her legs curling tight around the back of his calves as she peaked. 

“Oh,” she said in almost surprise, as her peak passed. “Oh Theon, that was…” She stopped, lost for words.

“Absolutely fucking fantastic?” he asked, then grinned at her. “Because it certainly was for me.”

She smiled shyly. “I didn’t know it could feel like that with… with you inside me.” She shrugged a tiny shrug. “I didn’t know it could feel like that at all.”

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you feel like that, Sansa,” promised Theon.

“And you?” Sansa replied. “Do I… please you?”

“More than you can imagine,” he replied, kissing her lightly. 

“But you haven’t… I thought you might… I want your seed in me, Theon. I want you to spill in me.” Sansa’s face grew determined. 

He kissed her again. “I can’t… stay this gentle, Sansa. Not if I’m going to peak.”

“That’s…” Sansa paused. “What do you need?”

“Just the same,” he said. “You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to. I just need to be…” Theon stopped suddenly and then laughed, a surprised bark.

“To be?” asked Sansa.

“I was going to say,” replied Theon and laughed again, “stronger and harder.”

Sansa laughed, a carefree happy laugh and Theon added “made Sansa laugh during lovemaking” to the list of best things he had ever done. He also added it to his to-do list for each time they made love from this day forwards. “Well,” replied Sansa, “at least I’ve got some idea why you’re the Drowned God’s champion,” and laughed again. “Theon,” she said, her face turning serious, “I want you to spill in me. Now. Do what you need. I’m not afraid.”

It was the permission he needed, the words he needed to hear, and he started to move his hips again, slowly at first, but picking up the pace as Sansa arched underneath him, her hands roaming across his back, fingernails grazing over his skin. He gripped her leg with one hand, shifted it upwards and back and then gave himself over to the sensation that swept through him. Grinding his hips into Sansa, he chased the pressure that built and built inside of him, until, encouraged by her soft cries, the grip and release of her hands, he gave a strangled groan and let himself spill inside of her, a release of pressure and control greater than he had ever felt before. When the last spasms had finally stopped, he was fairly certain he could have just collapsed, but he managed to shift his weight slightly to one side, so he didn’t squash Sansa. 

“That,” he murmured into the side of her neck, “was…” he didn’t know how to make words that covered what that was.

“Absolutely fucking fantastic?” said Sansa, mischievously, and he laughed into her hair. Carefully he slid out of her, untangled their legs and arms, nestled in beside her on the definitely not really big enough for both of them camp bed.

“Fucking Drowned God,” he said. “I had forgotten how good that felt.”

_ ~I’m glad it felt good,~  _ said the Drowned God,  _ ~because you’ll have to do it again.~ _

“Fucking…!” shrieked Theon and started so violently that he disappeared off the side of the bed in a flurry of limbs and panic and then with a strangled, “Fuck!” rolled under it. 

“Theon,” said Sansa, concerned but not quite at the edge of panic. “Are you alright?”

He gave a small groan. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice not as reassuring as he’d hoped. “I just need to have a short conversation.”

“Under the bed?” Sansa asked, dubiously. She didn’t have to ask who it was going to be with; sharing her husband with a god was not something she’d expected, but it was becoming ordinary far faster than she had thought it would. 

“I’m fine here,” said Theon. “Just give me a minute or two.”

_ ~Please don’t do that,~  _ he said quietly. 

_ ~That?~ _ asked the Drowned God.  _ ~It appears I frightened you. I did not intend to frighten you.~ _

_ ~Just, please, not when I’m making love to Sansa. Please.~  _ There was anguish in Theon’s mind and he couldn’t help the flash of memory that ripped through him, of being Reek and being forced to watch as Ramsay had raped Sansa on their wedding night. Despite everything else that had been done to him, it was one of his worst memories. 

_ ~I had forgotten that,~  _ said the Drowned God, and his tone was subdued.

_ ~I never do,~ _ replied Theon. They spilled into his mind then, a mix of everything Ramsay had done to him, what he had watched being done to Sansa.  _ ~The Maiden took away… I don’t think we will fall back into them any more, but she didn’t take away the memories.~ _

_ ~I didn’t watch,~  _ replied the Drowned God, and filled Theon’s mind with the warm wash of reassurance.  _ ~You called me and I came.~ _

_ ~Ah,~  _ replied Theon, and his tone was wry.  _ ~I did do that. Sorry. I wasn’t calling to you. I was… well, probably I was blaspheming.~ _

_ ~Because you said fucking Drowned God?~  _ replied the god, and his tone was suddenly amused.  _ ~That’s not blasphemy. I’m fairly certain Queen Yara thinks it is my name.~  _ His tone turned serious again.  _ ~You are my champion, Theon Greyjoy. I come when you call.~ _

_ ~Why?~  _ asked Theon, a strange mix of anguish and wonder.  _ ~Why did you choose me?~ _

_ ~You learned things no man should ever learn, Theon Greyjoy,~  _ replied the Drowned God.  _ ~You learned them in a way no-one should ever have to endure. The lessons you took from that were not what other men have learned. You learned mercy and you learned that power is a thing to be wary of, to be used only when needed and only when right. No other has come before me in the halls that could call upon the powers of a god and would not be tempted to use it for themselves.~ _

_ ~I wanted to save Sansa. And Yara,~  _ Theon replied. 

_ ~And you did not seek to do that for yourself. Only for them. You would have saved the Wolf of the North and your sister and come back to my halls to be alone forever, if such was what I chose. I have had men come before me in my halls before, Theon Greyjoy, and they have sought to be my champion and always they have offered me the same thing. Glory. Empire. Dead enemies. Gold and silver and jewels. The bottom of my sea is full of the drowned ships of old empires, of dead enemies and gold and jewels. You offered me nothing like that. You offered strength and happiness and children. Your choices intrigued me.~  _ The god paused and his voice was almost shy as he added,  _ ~And now I have shared your thoughts, Theon Greyjoy, I find that I like this way of looking at the world. I would like to see what the children of the Ironborn can do in the world. You should go and make me some.~ _

Then the god was gone from Theon’s mind. For a moment, Theon thought about getting out from under the bed, but then decided against it. It was a lot having a god inside your head, he decided. Having a god choose you. Choose you because of all of the things in your life that you thought had made you weak and soft and lesser and that a god thought had made you… worthy.

He had been thinking that through for a few minutes before Sansa said, “Theon? Are you still talking to him?’

“No, he’s gone,” replied Theon.

“Then would you like to come back to bed?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, thoughtfully. “I think I might stay here a bit longer.”

Maester Luwin used to make Theon write treatises on various subjects, both to improve his writing and to try and make him learn something useful. He had only enjoyed the ones on military strategies and naval warfare, but now Theon could have written a treatise on “the reasons I love Sansa Stark” as long as  _ The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms _ . He could have added a new chapter to it now as she looked over the side of the bed to check on him, and then the Queen in the North stepped off the bed and rolled in under it, to nestle into his side, her arm draped across his chest. 

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “It’s just… he gave me a lot to think about.”

Sansa nodded against his shoulder. “He does seem to do that.”

“I don’t know,” started Theon, then stopped. “It is a strange thing to be a god’s champion.”

“As strange as having the man you just realised you love die and then rise out of the sea months later on the back of a kraken?” Sansa asked.

Theon huffed a laugh, complex with emotions. “Probably about that strange, yes,” he said wryly.

“I know you’re his champion and I only just have glimpses of him,” said Sansa, wrapping one of Theon’s curls around her finger, “but I think he wants you to be happy.”

“He does.” That, at least, Theon was sure of. “I’m not sure I’m very good at that,” he said softly, dipping his head down to kiss Sansa on her temple. “I haven’t had a lot of practice at it.”

“Well,” she replied, practically. “None of us are very good at anything the first time we try it. We just have to have the courage to keep practicing until we’re good at it.” And her hand drifted down the length of his torso and brushed lightly over his cock, gentle dancing strokes that stirred its interest. “Shall we get back to bed, Theon?” she asked, her voice husky. “I think there’s a few things we should practice.”

*****

They had got better at many things with practice. Living at Winterfell, for one. The site of both the best and worst of memories for both of them, it had been strange at first to return, to live there as husband and wife, Queen and Lord, and to start the task of rebuilding the North. Some things had been easier than they expected; the story of Theon facing down the Dragon Queen and pledging to guard the North with the Drowned God’s power had run before them and meant there was no resistance to their marriage. Some things had been harder; choosing which chambers to live in had proven unexpectedly fraught with bad memories. In the end, they had moved into Theon’s old chambers, the only ones that they both felt comfortable in for now. 

Theon had practiced being happy, hard as he sometimes found that. The fact that the Drowned God was able, even eager, to tell him what Yara was doing in the Iron Islands helped a lot. And Sansa had made practicing being happy much easier; the new seneschal, Walter, who he’d struck up an easy friendship with, had pointed out to Theon that, despite his efforts to be a serious, thoughtful Lord, everyone did actually see the lopsided giddy smile that bloomed on his face every time she walked into the room. The fact that the Queen in the North tended to mirror that expression every time she caught sight of him meant Theon didn’t really mind. Walter and Maester Wolkan had both learned a very loud and particular clearing of the throat that they could use to try and regain Sansa and Theon’s attention when they were being particularly lovestruck at each other, which mostly worked (and everyone politely didn’t mention that every now and again Walter had to kick Theon under the table to get him to pay attention to the accounts). 

And some things, Theon thought, as Sansa gripped his hands with hers and lowered herself onto him, her head tipping back with a gasp as he was fully sheathed inside her, they’d got very good at with practice. She kept her grip on his hands as she moved her hips, setting the pace that suited her until she’d finally moved one hand to balance herself on his chest, the other to her pearl. She had long since lost her shyness at seeking her own pleasure, knowing that Theon loved to watch and feel her peak as much as wanted his own pleasure. He cupped her breasts and rolled her nipples to hardness as he felt her movements grow more ragged as she moved closer to her peak. Dropping his hands to his hips, he held them and took over the tempo, increasing the pace and depths of his thrusts, his breath quickening as her cunt tightened around his cock, slick and hot where they joined, until she cried out to the gods, her walls gripping tightly around him. The last fluttering waves of her peak drove him over the edge and with a last few ragged thrusts and a guttural cry, he spilled into her, a shattering release of pressure.

She had slumped forward on top of him afterwards, her face buried in the side of his neck as he reached across and drew a fur over the top of them, holding her tightly. And then his mind filled with a great warmth and affection, a feeling Theon couldn’t describe as anything other than the Drowned God’s blessing. 

Not wanting to frighten Sansa, his only reaction was a sharp,  _ ~I thought you weren’t watching.~ _

_ ~I wasn’t,~  _ replied the Drowned God, sounding very slightly put out at Theon’s somewhat accusatory tone.  _ ~But I always know when someone has made me an offering. I’m certainly going to know when my champion does.~ _

Theon was puzzled for a few seconds and then his inner voice was very quiet as he said,  _ ~We’re going to have a baby? How do you know?~ _

_ ~I  _ am  _ a god,~  _ replied the Drowned God, somewhat huffily. 

_ ~Do I tell Sansa?~  _ asked Theon, in a state of mild panic.

_ ~I don’t know,~  _ replied the god.  _ ~Don’t ask me. Why would you ask me? Why would I know?~  _ He sounded, if anything, even more panicked than Theon. 

_ ~Because you’re a god,~  _ pointed out Theon. 

_ ~That doesn’t mean I know whether to tell her,~  _ replied the Drowned God.  _ ~I don’t have to think about things like that. Most of my subjects lay eggs!~ _

Theon couldn’t help himself and laughed, a great gasp of ridiculous joy. Sansa leaned back and looked at him, slipped off his chest to lay beside him, propping herself up on one elbow.

“I’m going to assume that you were talking to him,” she said, raising an enquiring eyebrow. 

Theon nodded, smiling at her. “Sansa, there’s something I need to tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some more fun with the Drowned God. And some more Theon/Sansa smut (I mean it’s always going to happen - so MANY of their issues are tied up in their sexuality/sexual trauma that I just can’t work my way out of certain things without covering how they deal with that). But it is nice to write smut where Theon has a cock of his own :)


End file.
